


The Wrong Night

by brucewaysne



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bruce honey use your words, clark is a good boyfriend, featuring thai food and cheek kisses, listen they are so cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 23:06:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12095415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucewaysne/pseuds/brucewaysne
Summary: A particular case causes Bruce to repeatedly turn Clark down on dates to spend time working instead. Clark finally decides to put an end to it, but it's all rather sweet.





	The Wrong Night

**Author's Note:**

> please do not be tricked into thinking i'm one of those innocent cute/fluff writers, i have so much smut that i have to finish writing so there you go  
> anyway this is not smut, enjoy?  
> comments appreciated and etc

The phone lights up his hand again, a short message consisting of his name with a question mark, from Clark, clearly for having ignored his previous text. Bruce turns the phone over in his hand, leans back in the cave’s chair as he contemplates how to properly answer.

 

 _I’m busy again_ sounds too dismissive, not at all genuine. _I can’t tonight_ would work, if followed by an apology, but he has already used that one about three times before that. Clark deserves the truth, which would be _I’m still working on that case that’s caused me trouble for the past days and I’m sorry I’ve been blowing you off to spend time on it but it’s more important to keep people from getting killed than to go on a date._ And yeah, Bruce doesn’t know how to phrase that without sounding like an asshole.

 

Truthfully, he could send the text like that, word for word. Clark probably wouldn’t get mad. He would understand, reply with a simple, but painful _no, it’s okay, I understand._

 

What infuriates Bruce the most about the situation is precisely that; not having to let Clark down everytime, but the sheer fact that Clark acts like it is totally _okay_ , that he brushes every excuse off reassuring him they’ll try another time. Bruce keeps on expecting him to get tired and yell or _anything_ but it never comes. 

 

Initially Bruce was not this unavailable, and perhaps Clark is being comprehensive because he thinks this is only a phase, a unique case. If that is so, Bruce has no idea how to let Clark know he is wrong, and that this situation is precisely what he meant when he’d said he was « too complicated for relationships ». At the time, Clark had simply chuckled and believed in giving it a shot.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sixth time he has to turn the Kryptonian down, Bruce thinks, _that’s it._ Clark has been putting up with his shit for two weeks, taking ‘no’s for excuses and postponement after postponement. Bruce himself feels increasingly uncomfortable denying him, _over text_ , too. 

 

 _It’s just one dinner,_ he tries to reason, to convince himself. _One night._

 

But Bane is on the move again as soon as the previous case is solved, and word of alliances is spreading, petty criminals start to hide out of fear, and then plants are growing on the gate of Arkham Asylum. And if Bane and Ivy are working together, Bruce really can’t afford taking a night off.

 

 

* * *

 

 

« Yeah. _Fuck_. Look, just—go home. There’s nothing more you can do tonight. Yes, I’m fine— _okay, yes_ —Barbara, I have to go. Go _home_. » Bruce shuts off his earpiece without hearing the end of Barbara’s sentence but he doesn’t move. Not yet, and probably not for a while. With a loud exhale, the billionaire secures his grapple gun back in its place inside his utility belt. 

 

Tonight was particularly shit.

 

He has no idea which rooftop he’s perched on, but it’s high enough that he can see most of the city. It looks beautiful at night, the dim lights of the various houses and building are few enough to make the view look peaceful, and it almost makes up for the lack of stars. Those are rare times, when Gotham is able to hinder the ugliness going on in its streets, day or night.

 

In a instant, Bruce’s attention snaps back to his close surroundings. He can feel the presence behind him, recognizes it so easily he can nearly hear the feet touching the ground, even though the man is exceptionally inaudible in his movements, especially landing.

 

Bruce just hopes Clark won’t comment on the new, fresh wound on his shoulder. It’s quite small, it barely stings. Or, _he_ barely feels it.

 

« So, » Clark starts out, gentle, « I know you’re busy and all, but. I thought we could still have that date. »

 

There’s what sounds like paper rustling, confusion making Bruce tilt his head to the side to take a look at Clark. His eyes drop when he sees the bag in Clark’s hands, the big paper bag which can’t be anything other than _food_ , and that means Clark is serious about having the date right now, and he brought it here, _literally_. 

 

Clark is looking at him expectantly, and it’s so—the whole thing is just—

 

Once again, as always and forever, Bruce doesn’t know what to say. He turns away from Clark, doesn’t make a sound, just closes his eyes. He feels the breeze on his closed eyelids.

 

Then, soft, barely even a whisper;

 

« I don’t deserve you. »

 

The acknowledging hum from behind him reminds Bruce that Clark always hears everything, no matter how quietly and faintly he speaks, a fact that espaces Bruce’s mind too easily in exhaustion.

 

« Ah, yes. » Clark says flatly « God forbid the man who dedicates his nights to saving an entire city deserve something as simple as a _good boyfriend_. »

 

Bruce nods, not because he agrees or understands, but because he doesn’t know what he should be doing in response. Frankly, he is too spent to argue against any type of logic—especially when it gets spiritual like Clark’s usually does—so he turns to face the Kryptonian, and it turns out he is too tired for self-control as well, because the words just slip out of his mouth, as if that was a thing words just _did_ with Bruce.

 

« I lost track of Bane. » He sighs, dropping his arms by his sides in a defeated manner. « He’s been recruiting people—criminals—for weeks, and I had finally found a lead on his location and when I followed it tonight, I—» Another sigh escapes him, and he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, looking anywhere but Clark’s eyes. Clark has never him look so openly tired.

 

In this moment, Clark knows much better than to say things like _you’re too hard on yourself_ , or  _you’ll find him eventually,_ because there are no doubts that would frustrate Bruce further to no end. Afterall, Clark can empathize with the raw feeling of dissatisfaction at, when angry or disappointed in yourself, being told you’re wrong to be so. As any hero, Bruce has a habit of taking on  responsability for the world by himself, and while that is something Clark can relate to, he mostly wishes Bruce would realize that actually makes him as good and caring as the rest of them. 

 

Clark doesn’t mention any of it, though.

 

« I brought thai food. » He says instead, sitting down and holding the bag out in towards Bruce with a cheerful expression. Bruce turns and sits with him. Bringing the date here instead of rescheduling was either an absolutely brilliant or downright disastrous idea. It all depends on what Bruce says next.

 

« I hate thai food. » 

 

_Of course._

 

When Clark doesn’t say anything or move for a few seconds, Bruce glances at him; eyes squinting at his boyfriend’s completely immobile and _stern_ expression, burning holes into him. He raises an eyebrow, and Clark sighs dramatically.

 

« Alright. » He says, firmly. « I’m gonna start over. » And then he smiles his previous bright, enthusiastic grin, offering the box of food to him in a repeat of two minutes ago. « I brought thai food. »

 

Bruce rolls his eyes faintly, finally catching on. He forces a smile on his face and extends his hand to (pretend to) gladly accept the box. « Why, Clark, thank you for being so thoughtful. » 

 

His tone is unmistakably sacarstic but Clark beams at him, breathes a « welcome, babe » and leans in to plant a wet kiss on his cheek. It lands half on his actual skin and half on the cowl, and the wetness feels uncomfortable — Bruce huffs and wipes at his cheek with the back of his gauntlet, rolling his eyes, but Clark’s confident smirk tells him he sees straight through the act.

 

Bruce takes a reluctant bite while Clark takes a mouthful, which earns him a glare from the Bat because _manners,_ seriously _,_ the sauce is almost _dripping down his chin._

 

They eat in silence for the next five minutes—minutes during which Clark sees Bruce’s posture decrease in tension gradually, notes the lines of his face soften until they look like traces of tiredness only, and not defeat as well. The breeze is quite cold, so Clark watches out for any sign of shivering from the billionaire. He catches none, and instead enjoys how soft Bruce’s exposed skin looks and the light shade of pink the made cold has made it and how—well. Just how good he looks. It’s a very familiar thought Clark feels comfortable welcoming back any time he as much as sees the man.

 

« We must paint quite the picture, like this. »

 

_Perched on a rooftop with takeout._

 

Surprisingly, Bruce is the first one to speak up in a while, just as Clark is shoving three shrimps down his throat. Bruce pauses with his mouth open at that, wondering in a moment of impulse if Clark had been waiting for him the entire time to come home to eat, with how hungry he looks.

 

« Yeah, a terrifying one. »

 

Bruce raises his eyebrows.

 

« Trust me, there is nothing scarier than catching superheroes doing normal things. Especially _Batman_. » Clark chuckles as he messily wraps a large chunk of noodles around his plastic fork. Bruce forces himself not to delve on how he practically swallows the entire portion whole.

 

« You would label eating thai food at 2am on top of a rooftop as ‘normal’? »

 

« Well, you’ll never catch Batman doing _actual_ normal things. »

 

« Will you stop talking about Batman as if it’s not… you know, _me_. »

 

That makes Clark laughs, smiling lovingly at him with his mouth full, still. Bruce’s insides tingle a little. Sometimes Clark is just so fucking arranging it gets under Bruce’s skin so much, settles there like a blanket and keeps him warm, and Bruce, for the life of him, doesn’t _understand_ that warmth, how it just stays there and makes things _better_.

 

When they’re done and have cleaned up, having put everything back into the bag, Clark hands it to Bruce, then he carefully wraps the man up in his arms, mindful of his shoulder, and takes off.

 

« So, listen. » Clark says as they fly over Gotham, in absolutely no rush. « I know I was nice all evening, but we when get to the manor, I’m gonna force you to do something. The thing is resting. »

 

« Hn. » is the acknowledgement he gets from Bruce, who doesn’t move in his arms.

 

« We’re gonna have to do something about your—» Bruce groans loudly, « —shoulder too, I don’t care if you think it’s nothing. » 

 

« The _worst_ boyfriend. »

 

Clark chuckles, kissing his cheek again, like they’re not actually a couple and they can’t actually kiss like normal couples, that is, on the lips instead of on the cheeks, which Bruce distinctively recalls is mostly what five year olds do. Nonetheless, he burries his face further into the man’s chest to hide his face from the wind, which gets progressively stronger as Clark’s flying speeds up.

 

« Aren’t I. » Clark deadpans, pulling a huff out of the man in his embrace.

 

« You _knew_ I hated thai food. »

**Author's Note:**

> i hate them,,,


End file.
